


then I defy you, stars

by sincerely_tree



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Mutual Pining, No Smut, Not my thing, Pining, Wingfic, and it's obvious, but no magic, i don't know what im doing, i hate gabirel, sorry - Freeform, they have wings, uriel is there for half of a second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerely_tree/pseuds/sincerely_tree
Summary: “Who will I be marrying?” Aziraphale questioned quietly, “I assume that you will have me marry the princess of the Crimson Kingdom? Or perhaps the princess of the Oil Kingdom. They both have bad blood with our kingdom.”Gabriel shook his head, “It is a descendant of the Black Kingdom.”Aziraphale frowned, his head shaking lightly, “But the Black Kingdom has no princesses. None that I know of, at least.”Gabriel grinned, his eyes shining with malice behind them, “I never said that you would be marrying a princess.”Aziraphale was more than confused at the statement. What was he expected to marry if he wasn’t to marry a princess? Would be betrothed to a lamp? A bottle of wine?But as he pondered this, he realized exactly what Gabriel was implying. A descendant, but not a princess.He was to marry the prince.





	1. who ever loved that loved not at first sight ?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I hope you enjoy this absolute banger of a fanfic that I spit out in about three days because I sure don't!  
> I have the entire thing written out and I think I'll publish a chapter every week? I guess.  
> Fun fact, I stabbed my hand on accident halfway through writing this, tore through the muscles and basically couldn't move half of my fingers, but I finished writing this anyway! Hospitals? In this economy? Good joke. But that's my excuse for the dwindling quality about halfway through since I was facing heavy blood loss and nonfunctional fingers!  
> I hope you guys like it! Thanks!

“An arranged marriage?” Aziraphale cried, hands clutching nervously in front of his chest as he stared at Gabriel with wide eyes, “You can’t be serious?” He had been summoned by the older prince when Gabriel had broken the news to him: Aziraphale was to be getting married in order to secure connections with one of the neighboring lands.

“You’re not going to be the one inheriting the throne,” Gabriel replied, giving Aziraphale one of his smug-yet-threatening smirks, “You have no other use for this kingdom. Besides, a marriage may be able to unite our kingdoms.”

Aziraphale shook his head, stuttering through his next words, “I can be of use! I- I- I know a lot! Books, yes! I can help advise you!” He was desperate, grasping at straws. But Gabriel was not going to budge.

“Brother,” Gabriel sighed, his demeaning tone only furthering to lower Aziraphale’s spirits, “You would only be useful as a housewife.” The comment was followed by a chuckle from Gabriel and an embarrassing squeak from Aziraphale.

“That is far from true!” Aziraphale whined, his body deflating as he realized that his arguments were a lost cause. Nothing would change Gabriel’s mind at this point. Nothing ever could. The egotistical prince would never listen to Aziraphale, no matter how much Aziraphale begged him to.

“If you will not be convinced otherwise, then may I ask one question?” Aziraphale asked, looking to the floor in shame. He wished that he were confident enough to put up more of a fight. Gabriel gave him a condescending smile.

“Of course,” Gabriel replied, his voice not straying from his ever-too-friendly person.

“Who will I be marrying?” Aziraphale questioned quietly, “I assume that you will have me marry the princess of the Crimson Kingdom? Or perhaps the princess of the Oil Kingdom. They both have bad blood with our kingdom.”

Gabriel shook his head, “It is a descendant of the Black Kingdom.”

Aziraphale frowned, his head shaking lightly, “But the Black Kingdom has no princesses. None that I know of, at least.”

Gabriel grinned, his eyes shining with malice behind them, “I never said that you would be marrying a princess.”

Aziraphale was more than confused at the statement. What was he expected to marry if he wasn’t to marry a princess? Would be betrothed to a lamp? A bottle of wine?

But as he pondered this, he realized exactly what Gabriel was implying. A decedent, but not a princess.

He was to marry the prince.

“Gabriel!” Azriaphale cried, his voice squeaking loudly, “You cannot expect me to marry a- a man! I would be- that would be- I’ve never seen such a thing!”

“It will be a perfect alliance,” Gabriel shrugged, “The gender should not matter, dearest Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sputtered, “Of course not! But it wouldn’t- what would I be? I cannot be a prince to a King! It’s simply so… so…”

“Demeaning?” Gabriel interrupted, finishing Aziraphale’s sentence. Gabriel stood up, clapping him on the back, “That’s the point.”

With that, Gabriel brushed past Aziraphale, obviously sick of arguing over the idea. Aziraphale was left alone in the empty sitting room, staring at the spot that his brother had just stood in.  
Being married off to another man? It wasn’t anything that Aziraphale had ever heard of. Nor was it something that he ever considered. How would it work anyways? It had always been a king and a queen. Would there be two kings? Would there be two princes? Would the lesser prince be called the Queen? Would Aziraphale be called the Queen?

Aziraphale huffed, his anger spilling over. How dare Gabriel do something like this to him? Putting him in such an embarrassing position? It wasn’t like Aziraphale could even do anything to counteract the other. Any protesting would be like arguing with a stone wall.  
Frustrated, Aziraphale turned on his heel, storming out of the room. 

* * *

Crowley did not want to be here.

Where was here, exactly? Here was a ball, right in the center of the White Kingdom’s palace. More popularly known as the Ivory Palace, known for the most exquisite of parties. Parties that, at the moment, Crowley did not want to be attending.

Crowley chugged another glass of wine, slamming it down onto the table in front of him. He glared over at one of the maids who was walking around, and she quickly rushed over to him to refill it. The only good part of a party, in Crowley’s opinion, was the wine.

“Prince Crowley, perhaps you should slow down with the alcohol?” a familiar voice appeared at his side. Crowley turned his head without looking up, only to make eye contact with Hastur, his so-called “advisor”.

“Perhaps I will,” Crowley mused, before taking another swig from the glass, “But not right now.” Hastur sighed, annoyed by how stubborn the prince was.

“Your fiance is to show up soon, Sir,” Hastur continued, “It would be best to meet him sober.”

Crowley barked a laugh, shaking his head, “I’d rather meet him drunk. That way, I wouldn’t have to remember him.” Crowley did not want to get married. He did not want to deal with some prim and proper daddy’s boy from the White Kingdom. Crowley was already going to rule the Black Kingdom. A marriage wasn’t going to help secure his rule, as it was already secured. Nor would the marriage benefit either of the kingdoms. They were already mortal enemies, no marriage would change that.

“You don’t want to give him a bad impression, Sir,” Hastur pressed, pulling the glass of wine away from Crowley. Crowley groaned loudly, swiping for it back.

“He deserves to see what kind of mess he’s getting himself into,” Crowley replied, crossing his arms on the table and laying his chin on top of them, “Good impressions would only leave him with high expectations.”

Hastur sighed loudly. For someone indebted into the servitude of the King, Hastur sure was rude, Crowley thought.

“Come on, sit up,” Hastur pulled at Crowley’s black suit, making sure not to wrinkle it, “Look dignified.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest more when a large silence passed over the room. All eyes were locked onto the front door, where Crowley slowly turned his attention. The marble-carved doors were wide open, he noticed, a few figures standing in it’s archway.

In the front stood the Ivory Queen. Crowley had seen her before, many times. She was a powerful presence, one that could make an entire kingdom stand still. Crowley saw it in action as everyone in the room bowed down to her. Crowley, sitting at the table opposite to her position, did not bow, as he was far too focused on the figures behind her.

The first was the Eldest Prince Gabriel. Crowley hated him, hated the insincere smile that covered his face, hated the way that he looked far too confident. He was the heir to the throne, the one who would rule the White Kingdom one his mother was no more.

The second figure was the one that caught Crowley’s attention and held it. A man, about his own age, standing small beside Gabriel. He was the Young Prince, Crowley realized. He had pale white hair that stood up in all of the messiest directions. His body held more weight than his brother’s, nearly being the opposite of his family. While the Queen and the Eldest Prince were both tall, lean and powerful, the Young Prince was short, chubby, and warm. He held a certain softness to him that made him look so meek, yet so sweet.

Crowley was mesmerized.

Crowley ignored Hastur’s panicked whisper begging Crowley to bow, instead reaching up and pulling the shaded glasses off of his face. He didn’t like taking them off in public, but he wanted to take in the Young Prince’s appearance in full.

Obviously, his movements (or lack of bowing) caught the attention of the royal trio. Gabriel glared at him, while the Queen looked on with some kind of knowing smile.  
And then the Young Prince looked at him.

He had the palest blue eyes, eyes that mimicked every ocean that surrounded the kingdoms. Eyes that captured every summer sky that Crowley had ever seen, and every sky that were to come. Every azure crystal existing in the earth was sparkling in those eyes, and Crowley was enraptured.

And then his wings snapped open.

This action caused a flurry of even more actions, none of which Crowley were proud of.

First off, it caused the faces of nearly everyone in the room to drop. Because, he, Crowley, Prince of the Black Kingdom, was presenting his wings to the royal family of the White Kingdom. Because people could see the clear shock in both Crowley and both Prince’s faces. Because people didn’t know exactly which one he was presenting to.

Second, it caused the Queen to laugh. Loudly. She let out a hearty and powerful chuckle, her stern face cracking as she watched the spectacle in front of her. Because, of course, she knew who Crowley had been looking at it. No one else in the room knew, but she did. And she was laughing.

Finally, Crowley turned tail and ran away.

He was embarrassed. No, more than embarrassed. He had just outed himself to everyone at the party. Opening one’s wings in such a fashion was a blatant display of attraction or emotion, and everyone had seen it. Rumors would be traveling around the kingdom before the night even ended.

Maybe he should have listened to Hastur. He should have not drank as much. If he hadn’t, maybe he would’ve had better control over his own muscles. Maybe he wouldn’t have let his wings move on their own, as they had.

Crowley continued grumbling to himself as he stormed through the castle halls, shoving his wings back shut. He wasn’t staying here any longer. He was going to leave. He wasn’t quite sure where he was in the castle, but he was sure that if he continued wandering, he would eventually find his way out. Better to wander than to return to the party and deal with all of the whispers that would corner him.

And so he wandered. He continued walking, muttering angrily to himself about his own actions. How stupid he was. He shouldn’t have been admiring the Young Prince. He shouldn’t be thinking about him at all. But his glow had just enraptured him, the way that the light reflected off of his hair like a halo, the way that his wide eyes had locked onto Crowley’s…

Crowley cursed angrily as his wings twitched again, but he knew better than to let them open again. He wouldn’t be presenting to an empty hallway. Nor would he be presenting to the thought of the Young Prince ever again.

Crowley turned the corner, coming face-to-face with said Young Prince.

“Oh! Dear me, you scared me!” The man chuckled, placing a hand on his heart. Crowley froze, unsure of what to say. An apology would be best, he supposed. But his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Speaking felt impossible.

“Sorry,” is all Crowley managed, though it sounded quite insincere for all that he was trying to apologize for. Crowley’s eyes stayed trained on the floor, trying to keep himself from staring at the other man again.

“Don’t fret it,” the Young Prince replied with a wave of his hand. A silence quickly blanketed them as neither of them seemed to be able to form the correct words.

Finally, Crowley spoke up with a curt “Lovely meeting you, Your Highness.” He gave him a half-assed bow before passing him and continuing his trek to find the exit.

As Crowley turned away, the Young Prince called out to him, “The marriage, by the way. It’s ours.”

Crowley was, one again, frozen into place. To be honest, he had totally forgotten about the arranged marriage during the commotion. He hadn’t even bothered to put the two obvious puzzle pieces together. Beelzebub had mentioned that his fiance would be of the White Kingdom, and here was a prince of the White Kingdom.

Crowley could not have been stupider.

“Right. Yes,” Crowley nodded, he turned to face the Young Prince, but still didn’t look at him. “I guess that I’ll see you during the wedding.”

“I suppose so,” replied the Young Prince, his voice clearly disappointed. Crowley considered speaking again, before deciding against it and walking away.


	2. for ever and a day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get an accurate chapter count, but I keep editing the story, so I really have no clue yet. I'm probably going to end up with about 20 chapters? It's about 30,000 words.  
> Sorry that this chapter is a bit short! I promise that the next one is longer!

“Young Prince!” a voice called from the other side of Aziraphale’s door, followed by frantic knocking. Aziraphale hardly looked towards the door, his sights stuck on the face in front of him.

“One moment!” Aziraphale replied, his knee jiggling as he sat in front of his mirror. He was ready to go, but his nerves were keeping him from exiting his room.

“Please hurry! The ceremony will start in ten minutes!” The voice, presumably a maid, pleaded. They sounded desperate. Aziraphale could assume why.

“Yes, yes!” Aziraphale responded, “I'll be there very soon, I promise you!”

He stared at his own eyes in the mirror, glaring at his makeup and outfit. He wore a plain white suit, nothing very special or fancy about it. It was a good representation of the White Kingdom, he guessed: plain, clean and boring. It looked just like everything else littering the palace. The only noticeable thing about it was the crystals sewn into the front of it. They had been a small trade-off, one that Aziraphale would gladly accept. It was either wear the glittery diamonds or wear a dress. He had not been too keen on the second option.

His hair had been neatly combed through and a small golden circlet kept it off of his face. Aziraphale was not worthy of a crown, he had been told. While other princes wore their crowns to their weddings, he had been given a small circlet in its place. He wondered in his fiance would be wearing a crown.

He also had makeup on, much to his dismay. Pale power covered his face to even out his skin tone. His eyes were outlined with white eyeliner to make them stand out more against his skin. He had even allowed the holy symbol of their kingdom, a cross, to be drawn on his forehead in dark kohl. The worst part: his wings were not tucked away. It was tradition to have one’s wings visible and partly open during a wedding, so his neatly groomed wings were poking out from his suit.

Another knock came to his door before the door swung open, without warning. Aziraphale jumped up to look at the intruder, wondering who would have the authority to enter his room without permission. He was shocked to see the Queen, so he quickly bowed.

“Stand up straight, my dear,” she said, moving closer to him. She wore an oversized and grandiose dress that was built of layer upon layer of embroidered lace. It was beautiful, as everything associated with her was.

Aziraphale was often jealous that he hadn’t gained an ounce of her charm or confidence. The Queen was a woman who demanded power, and it was obvious that the trait hadn’t been passed down to Aziraphale.

“Sorry that I am late,” he quickly apologized, assuming that it was what she was addressing him for.

“You must be so nervous,” she said, patting his cheek softly as she ignored his words, “You poor child.” Aziraphale nodded, leaning into her touch. Her warmth was so comforting. Aziraphale missed the days when he could run into her arms and cry about every small misfortune that came his way.

“He’s very scary,” he admitted. She laughed lightly, nudging his chin up to look into his eyes.

“And he already adores you,” she smiled. Blood rushed up to Aziraphale’s cheeks as he instantly knew what she was talking about. The party had been a disaster, and the rumors that spurted up with it had been hard to quell. Funny enough, most people thought that the other prince had been presenting to the Queen, not to Aziraphale. In all honesty, Aziraphale himself had doubted that the man had been presenting to him.

“Besides, you look beautiful,” she continued, “If he wasn’t already in love with you, he will be now.” Aziraphale blushed a little brighter before pulling away and taking a deep breath.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he smiled, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. She kissed his in return, her eyes glowing with happiness.

“This will be good for you,” she promised him, “This marriage will be good for us all.”

* * *

Aziraphale wasn’t sure who decided that he would be walking down the aisle like the bride, but Aziraphale hated whoever it was.

He hated the eyes on him, the eyes that were staring him down and judging the simplicity of his outfit. He hated the shaky steps that he was taking as he crushed rose petals beneath his feet. He hated the hole that his own groom was boring into him with his eyes.

The other prince was beautiful. He was beautiful in a messy, chaotic sort of way. His wild hair, dark skin and lanky build all contributed to the perfect amalgamation of a man. He was the opposite of Aziraphale, with Aziraphale being all curves and round edges, and the other prince being all lean and angular. The prince looked like a thunderstorm, he gave off the aura of rebellion. It had scared Aziraphale the first time they had met eyes, but it now allured him.

Not to mention his eyes.

When Aziraphale first saw him from across the room, he had been wearing glasses tainted black to hide his eyes. But the prince had lifted them and shown Aziraphale his true eyes: a golden yellow, with serpent’s pupils. They were evil, unusual, and gorgeous. It took all of Aziraphale’s willpower to keep him from locking onto those strange eyes and getting lost in them.

Today, the prince wore a black suit vest with a red shirt underneath. He defied every idea of the brightly-colored wedding that the Queen had been planning, and tainted the room with his opposition. Aziraphale found it charming, a sort of anchor among the sea of pastel-colored dresses. He could lock his eyes onto the dark colors of the man’s suit and keep them from wandering anywhere else.

The prince had wings to match, too. They were pitch black, nearly the color of the void. If they were only one shade darker, they would appear as black holes, with no light escaping their grip. Aziraphale already knew this, though. He had seen the wings quite clearly at the party.

They were held very still, Aziraphale noticed. Most people, when keeping their wings loose, would leave them slack on their back. But the prince’s were tensed up, still open but unmoving.

Was he scared, too?

Aziraphale approached the altar, ignoring how much his own wings might be shaking. He needed to keep his calm. This marriage was good for the kingdom, he kept telling himself. Sure, it might be scary. But it was for the good of them all.

In all honesty, Aziraphale would’ve loved to have more time to spend with his fiance. He would’ve loved to learn about what kind of person he was, what he enjoyed doing in his free time, what kind of food was his favorite. Aziraphale wished that they had more than just one party to meet. One party that, mind you, had failed quite catastrophically. If they had more time, perhaps Aziraphale wouldn’t feel like he was marrying a total stranger.

“Do you, Prince Crowley of the Black Kingdom, take Young Prince Aziraphale of the White Kingdom to be your husband and spouse from this day forward and for all the days beyond it, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, from sickness to health, until death do you part?” The priest of the podium recited.

Aziraphale was shocked to realize that he had never before heard the name of his soon-to-be-husband before this moment. The priest’s words dug daggers into Aziraphale’s skin as he made eye contact with his groom. Aziraphale was shocked to see Crowley looking directly at him, his eyes filled with worry and uncertainty. Aziraphale wished that he could comfort Crowley. He wished that he could tell Crowley that it was for the better for their two kingdoms. That it needed to be done, no matter what doubts were running through Crowley’s head.

“Your name is Aziraphale?” Crowley whispered, eyes holding still with Aziraphale. He nodded, shocked that the other man had the same thoughts running through his head.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Aziraphale mumbled, his voice shaking lightly. Crowley snorted before his smile fell. The priest coughed loudly, the audience starting to stir as Crowley didn’t reply to the vows.

“I would like one request,” Crowley loudly spoke, his body straightening up but his eyes staying locked onto Aziraphale. With his words, he called the attention of the entire crowd to him, if it had not been already. A hushed whisper ran over them as all of them started speculating on what he was planning. Their words were silenced by the Queen's powerful voice. 

“I’m listening,” spoke the Queen. Aziraphale hadn’t previously noticed, but the King of the Black Kingdom was standing beside her, in all of his terrifying glory. He was a large man and seemed to have the same dark aesthetic as his son.

“I would like a courtship period with my fiance. One month’s time, if I may,” he replied. Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open in shock, as did the mouths of many other people in the room.

“You speak nonsense, child,” the King’s voice boomed, and Aziraphale cowered slightly from the sheer energy radiating from the man’s words.

“Silence, King,” the Queen replied, “I will hear him out. Tell me, Prince Crowley, why do you wish such a month?”

Crowley grinned lightly, looking at the Queen, “I made a very embarrassing mistake when I met your son. I wish to make it up to him before forcing his hand.” The Queen grinned back, her eyes filled with humor.

“Granted,” she said, to the horror of the King beside her, “You can spend two weeks at the Ivory Palace and then, if the King will agree with it, another two weeks at the Charcoal Castle.” All eyes turned to the King in expectation. Aziraphale held his breath.

The King kept up his frown, his eyes a stormy dark, “Fine. I will permit it.” Aziraphale beamed, excitement filling his system. This was good! He would have time to make friends with his fiance. He would be able to talk to him and find out what he liked and what he hated.

Maybe, just maybe, this would work out.


	3. to unpathed waters, undreamed shores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: this chapter is not longer than the last one, sorry! I decided to move a part of it to the next chapter, I think that it flows better.   
> Also, go follow my Tumblr at veronica-aj ! I'm hella inactive but I'm planning on posting up some one-shots there soon!

Crowley didn’t have much to pack from his palace. He didn’t have many belongings at all, honestly. He considered the empty suitcase for a while before he took his glasses, his plethora of black clothes, and a bottle of wine. He had his black stallion, Bentley, transported to the Ivory Palace’s stables ahead of time. He also gave the palace maids very strict instructions on how to take care of his houseplants, screaming and all. 

His ride to the White Kingdom was early in the morning. Crowley chose to sleep through most of it, ignoring the scenery in order to catch a few more hours of shut-eye. He only awoke as his carriage reached the Ivory Palace and the driver shook him awake.

The Ivory Palace was really something to be admired. It was huge, for one. Big enough for thousands of people to stay it. Despite that, it only housed three people and a few maids. It was also entirely white. Carvings and sculptures covered the walls and rooms, but it was all white. The only spots of color in the house were the people who resided in it. Crowley would bet that even the shadows of the objects in the house were white. 

The Ivory Palace was very empty in comparison to the Charcoal Castle. The Charcoal Castle was big, but housed hundreds of people. There were always crowds and noises. The Ivory Palace was the opposite. There was silence as Crowley walked in, and the only noise that he heard for the first few minutes was his own footsteps. 

The Ivory Palace was very different during the day time, when there wasn’t a party going on. In the night time, it was hard to navigate. It was cramped, the silence closing in on whoever dared wander through it. But in the day, when the palace was covered in light, it felt freeing. Peaceful. 

Crowley wasn’t quite sure where to go, so he followed what seemed to be the main hall before he reached a large ballroom, it’s doors wide open. Not the one that the party had been in, he noticed. This one was different. 

At the moment, there was a large table set up in the center of the room. There were dozens of place settings on it, but only two people sitting at it. The Queen sat at the head of the table while Gabriel sat at the other end. 

Crowley knew Gabriel quite well. He was the prince who was fated to inherit the White Kingdom’s throne. Crowley had spoken to him many times at the yearly country-wide conferences, which Crowley had been forced to attend every year. Every time that Crowley spoke to Gabriel, he was reminded of how much he hated him. 

Both of their heads turned to look at Crowley as he entered the room, his footsteps breaking the silence that had been looming over them. Crowley froze as their eyes fell on them before plastering an awkward smile on his face. 

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, bowing. He didn’t bother bowing far, he knew that the Queen wouldn’t mind. 

“Good morning, Crowley,” she replied, “Lovely to see you here.” The Queen kept up her calm attitude, though annoyance was rolling off of Gabriel in waves. 

“Crowley,” Gabriel greeted curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“To steal your brother’s heart, it seems,” Crowley replied, a smirk on his face, “But I can’t find my quarters. Mind guiding me there, Gabriel?” Crowley basked in the glare that Garbiel shot him. Man, if looks could kill. But Gabriel still stood from the table, nodding. 

“Of course. Follow me,” he motioned for Crowley to go through a door on the other side of the room. Crowley crossed the room quickly, head held high. 

“Nice place,” Crowley told Gabriel, and the other prince nodded. 

“It was constructed by our very early ancestors to be the most diving and lovely palace on the continent,” Gabriel responded, tracing his hand against the wall as he walked, “I think that they succeeded. Do you?”

Crowley shrugged, “I think that they could’ve used a little more white.” Gabriel shot him an exasperated glance as he continued to guide him. Crowley mentally noted the turns that they made throughout the halls so that he could traverse the castle without a map.

“The Young Prince is very airheaded,” Gabriel spoke up again, “He’s probably sitting and reading again. He’s very foolish, you see. His head is far too high in the clouds. Good luck trying to get him down.”

Crowley frowned, “I don’t see that as a bad thing.” The way that Gabriel was talking about the Young Prince, in such a demeaning and rude tone, was really obnoxious to Crowley. 

“Oh, you will,” Gabriel scoffed, “He’s practically daft! Shakespeare this and prophecy that. I don’t think that there’s a book in the library that he hasn’t read.”

“Sounds interesting,” Crowley shrugged, “My husband should be knowledgeable enough to help advise me.”

Gabriel shook his head, “He’ll be a useless advisor. I’d recommend placing him on housewife duty. Mopping the floors every day might knock some sense into him.”

This was just enough to piss Crowley off. He grabbed Gabriel by his collar, pushing him against the adjacent wall, his black wings puffing up to their full size.   
“Listen here you,” Crowley growled, “I would recommend that you watch where you let that tongue run. If I hear you speak that way about my fiance again, I will not hesitate to make sure that he is the only heir left to the throne. Understood?” A flicker of fear flashed across Gabriel’s face before it was swallowed up by his shit-eating grin. 

“Presenting to another member of the royal family, are you?” Gabriel teased, running his fingers along Crowley’s feathers. Crowley pulled his wing away, disgusted by the action. 

“You’re putrid,” Crowley hissed, dropping the man. Gabriel crumpled to the floor but quickly got to work standing up and brushing himself off.

“Don’t make a habit of that,” Gabriel grinned, nodding towards the other end of the hallway, “Your fiance might see.” Crowley whipped around to look where he was motioning to, seeing that, sure enough, the Young Prince was standing in the hall, eyes wide. 

Crowley groaned, hanging his head. 

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Gabriel sang as he turned away, going back the way he had come. 

“Would you believe me if I said that it wasn’t what it looked like?” Crowley called out to the Young Prince. To Crowley’s surprise, the Young Prince nodded, walking to him and holding out his hand out for Crowley to shake. 

“He’s always quite rude, I was expecting it,” the Young Prince sighed, “I’m Aziraphale, it’s very nice to meet you.” Crowley grabbed his hand, putting it to his lips instead of shaking it. The Young Prince, Aziraphale, blushed as Crowley dropped his hand. 

“Crowley,” he winked, “It’s my pleasure.”

“Very well, um,” Aziraphale tripped over his words with embarrassment as he pointed the way that he had come from, “Your room? I can take you?”

Crowley chuckled, nodding, “That would be lovely.” 

Aziraphale then turned and started down the hall, guiding the other prince to one of the nearly identical white doors that littered the wall. 

Crowley hated that he couldn’t quite get his feathers to settle down on his back. 

“This is your room for the following weeks!” Aziraphale announced as he twisted the door’s handle. He allowed Crowley to step in, but didn’t follow him. It was clearly a bedroom, but it was decorated with the same white furniture that the rest of the house had. It was a large room, with a huge bed in the center of the wall and a door to an outside balcony. 

“If you want anything to furnish the room or decorate it, the maids will have it delivered in two days,” Aziraphale told him, “And the closet- your closet- leads to mine! They’re connected suites!” He seemed so happy about this fact that Crowley was as well. 

“It’s perfect, thank you,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale nodded awkwardly before clasping his hands together. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to your unpacking!” he smiled, “I’ll be next door if you need me.”

With that, the door swung closed and Crowley was by himself again. 

Crowley didn’t have much to unpack, so he only bothered to put his clothes in the dresser before collapsing on the bed. 

The white sheets were going to drive him insane.


	4. love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret shortening the last chapter because now this one is weirdly long :(  
> But you guys get a long chapter! Woo!!

Aziraphale hated how awkward he was around Crowley. He hated how he wasn’t able to say what he wanted, how he stumbled over his words too often. He hated how much he was undeniably attracted to the other man. He hated how he wanted to stare at him all day. He just wanted to watch Crowley and his sharp edges and his swagger as he walked and the way his body was all angles and sides, unlike Aziraphale. Aziraphale was built like an apple while Crowley was built like the tree. 

“That will go away soon,” he mumbled to himself as he forcibly shoved the feathers of his wings below his shirt, “It’s going to be better soon.”

“What will, darling?” a voice shook Aziraphale out of his thoughts. Aziraphale shot up, looking for the intruder. He quickly saw him: Crowley was peeking his head through the closet door. He must have gotten curious about the attached rooms. 

“Nothing! At all!” Aziraphale cried, “What are you doing here?” Crowley pushed the closet door open completely, letting himself in. He shrugged, looking around the room curiously. Aziraphale’s room was quite a mess, it was littered in books that seemed to cover nearly every surface. Aziraphale was sitting at a desk, various books open to random pages in front of him. Crowley took in the spectacle before approaching Aziraphale. 

“I was bored,” Crowley finally replied to his question, “You like books?”

“Well, yes, I thought it was rather obvious,” Aziraphale frowned before sensing Crowley’s sarcasm, “Of course, you knew that. You were being cynical. Of course. Sorry.”

Crowley chuckled lightly, and Aziraphale quickly mourned over the tainted glasses that covered his eyes. Oh, what he would give to be able to look into those eyes. 

“Can you take me to the stables?” Crowley asked, “I would like to see if my horse arrived safely.” Aziraphale hopped up from his seat, nodding quickly. 

“Yes, yes!” he agreed, “Your horse is very pretty, he arrived early this morning!” With that, he turned to the door and led Crowley out of the room. Crowley followed him through more halls and passageways, sticking close to Aziraphale. Aziraphale started humming as he walked, letting some of Mozart’s music play in his head. 

Other than Aziraphale’s humming, they walked in silence. As they descended the last staircase, a maid hurried up to Aziraphale. 

“A meeting in starting in a few minutes, Sir,” she spoke to him in a rushed panic. 

“A meeting? What is it about?” Aziraphale asked. There was no meeting planned for today, he was certain. He kept very close track of all of them. Why would they call one together at the last minute?

“Regarding the Scarlett and Oil Kingdoms,” she answered, then, leaning in and whispering, “The princess have announced that they will be visiting soon.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, “Oh dear. So sudden?”

“Details will be discussed at the meeting,” she nodded, pulling back and glancing up at Crowley. Azriaphale turned his attention back to Crowley as well. 

“My apologies, my sincere apologies, but this is a matter that I must hear about, it is of utmost importan-” Azriaphale was interrupted by Crowley’s “shush”. 

“I know, I know,” Crowley replied, “I’m not going to keep you from your princely duties. I’ll see you later, Young Prince.” Aziraphale felt bad for leaving him, and something about his tone made him feel like he was making a mistake. Hovering back for a moment, Aziraphale glanced at the maid. 

“Can you take Eldest Prince Crowley to the stables?” he asked her, clasping his hands together in a pleading motion. 

“Of course, Sir,” she nodded with a small smile. Aziraphale beamed at her before turning tail and hurrying to the meeting hall. 

Aziraphale was more than worried. Why were the Scarlett and Oil Kingdoms visiting? They didn’t have any arguements to pick with the White Kingdom. At least, Aziraphale was pretty sure that they didn’t. The White Kingdom had been very careful to not anger them. 

Aziraphale burst into the meeting room, seeing the Queen, Gabriel, and Gabrial’s advisor, Uriel, sitting around a table. Aziraphale rushed to take his seat at the table. The Queen held a piece of paper in her hands, and she started to read from it as Aziraphale sat down. 

“Dear Royalty of the White Kingdom, to whoever it may concern, from the Queen to the Young Prince Aziraphale,” she started, “I bring news about the actions of the Scarlett and Oil Kingdoms. In about two week’s time, the Scarlett and Oil Kingdom will be sending their princesses to stay in the Charcoal Castle as a sign of hospitality and trust. I hope that this information will be useful to you, and for our kingdom.” She lowered the letter, indicating that she had finished. Aziraphale frowned, unsure of why the letter was significant. The princesses would be visiting the Black Kingdom, not their own.

“They’re not visiting our kingdom,” Aziraphale stated, “Why does it matter to us?” 

“Because, dear brother,” Garbiel spoke with malice in his voice, “They’ll be visiting you. In two week’s time, you’ll be in the Charcoal Castle, along with your fiance.” The color quickly drained from Aziraphale’s face as he understood everything that it implied. The Scarlett and Oil Kingdoms were both very strategic, scarily so. If the princesses only wanted a diplomatic meeting, they would wait until after the marriage was sealed. The fact that they were visiting the Charcoal Castle during the time that Aziraphale would be staying in it meant one thing: they were going to try something. Whether it be to tear the marriage apart or push it further together, Aziraphale was quite unsure. But it scared him.   
“What will we do?” he asked, his voice shaking lightly. 

“Nothing, Young Prince,” the Queen replied, “But you must be careful.”

* * *

Crowley wasn’t at all upset that Aziraphale had left him.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he groomed his horse’s mane. He wasn’t upset, no, not at all. Why would he be? It wasn’t like he had wanted to show off his stallion to the other prince. Nor did he even want to take him out on a horse ride with him. No, that would be just stupid.   
Crowley wasn’t upset. 

He sighed as he looked at Bentley, the horse’s brown eyes looking lazily in front of him. Of course, Bentley didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know what kind of person he was going to meet soon. Bentley didn’t yet know how great Aziraphale was, with his perfect hair and cute smiles and adorable stuttering. Bentley didn’t know _shit_. 

All of the other horses in the stables were white (shocking) and flawlessly groomed. Their manes were braided into neat lines or tied up into buns. There was only one horse who was not a plain white, and she only had a few patches of brown fur on her body. Her mane, unsurprisingly, was in a fancy braid with flowers weaved into it. 

Crowley would have to ask whoever was in charge of braiding them to braid his horse’s mane as well. 

The sun was starting to set on the horizon, which shocked Crowley slightly. He had spent nearly half of the day riding. It really shouldn’t have been as shocking, he was known to lose time when he was barreling along the forest floor, but he still pretended to be shocked. 

He started off towards the large palace once again, heading into the door that he had exited. To his surprise, a maid was waiting in front of the door to his room when he finally reached it.   
“Eldest Prince,” she bowed, “There will be an official welcoming dinner tonight. Please, let me help you prepare for it.” 

Crowley instantly regretted nodding. She grabbed his arm, pulling him into his room and rushing to the closet. The closet had been empty when Crowley had first arrived, but now he saw that it had a few outfits in it. They all seemed to fit his black-and-red aesthetic. Except, of course, for the one that the maid pulled out. 

This one was black and a light blue, which was rather strange to Crowley. Why blue? Was the dinner themed as such? He wanted to ask, but the maid pressed the outfit into his chest and urged him to change into it quickly. Crowley turned to go into the closet to change, but the maid shook her head. 

“Just change here, sir,” she told him, “I won’t be looking.”

Crowley listened to her, throwing on the suit, his back faced to the maid. To his surprise, the suit had holes in the back in order to let his wings hang out. Crowley really much prefered to tuck them away. 

Upon deciding that he was finished, the maid turned to him and fixed up the corners and wrinkles of the suit. She fluffed up his wings, much to his discomfort, making sure that they were pulled fully through the holes in the suit. 

She handed him a silver circlet, letting him place it on his head. It had a very simple shape: a silver band with a tear-drop shaped loop on the front, a blue crystal embedded in the metal. Crowley, quite honestly, didn’t like it much. But he wore it anyway, letting it hold back his fiery hair. 

“Oh, I wish that Prince Aziraphale were here to do your hair,” the maid sighed as she combed through it herself, “He is just magnificent at braiding.” Crowley almost laughed at that information. Aziraphale, good at braiding? What else was this prince good at? The new information just made Crowley wanted to know everything about the Young Prince. 

The maid finished up with Crowley’s hair, leading him out of the room and down a staircase. 

“Prince Crowley has arrived,” the maid announced as she opened a large set of doors, holding them open for the man. Crowley entered to see a dining hall, with a large, marble table in the center. Once again, similarly to the scene that Crowley had walked in on in the morning, the Queen was sitting at the head of the table and Gabriel sitting at the other head. But, this time, Aziraphale was sitting at one of the seats in the center of the table. 

Aziraphale jumped up, bowing for Crowley. Crowley didn’t bow back, instead strolling forwards and sitting in the chair beside Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale, Crowley noticed, was wearing another one of his typical white suits, save for the blue undershirt and tie. A blue that was exactly the same as his own. To top it off, he wore a golden circlet that was identical to the circlet that Crowley wore, save for the metal it was made with. Now Crowley understood why the maid had shoved him in it. They were intended to match. 

“Aziraphale, did you review the information that I gave you?” Gabriel asked as soon as they were seated. Maids quickly started swarming as the food was served, dishes placed on the table. Aziraphale nodded as he served himself, placing some food on his place. 

“I started, yes! It’s very interesting,” Aziraphale replied, “A new plague that only seems to affect the fish, that’s very curious!”

“And?” Gabriel snapped, “I’d be delighted to hear about the information that you have found on it!”

Aziraphale sunk down lightly as he responded, “Well, you see, it’s very hard to find such information. I’ve been searching for it, but none of the books have records-”

“So you have nothing?” Gabriel interrupted, his voice cold. Crowley wanted to punch him, but he knew that violence would not help this situation. 

“Not quite yet, no,” Aziraphale squeaked quickly. Gabriel sighed loudly, clearly annoyed. 

“I let you into these kinds of affairs, I trust you to help me deal with them,” he said, “And, every single time, you let me down.” Crowley looked to the Queen, expecting her to jump into the conversation and scold Gabriel for his behavior. But she was eating her food peacefully, ignoring the conversation that was occurring. 

“I’ll keep looking!” Aziraphale cried, “There are still many, many books! I’m sure that I can find something!” 

Gabriel smiled, all signs of malice gone from his face, “That’s a good boy.” 

Crowley wanted to jump up, to tell Crowley to leave Aziraphale alone and research the plague for his own stupid self. But the room went silent, and Crowley knew that it was best not to pick fights in front of the Queen. Instead, the quiet remained as the rest of the meal was eaten in peace. 

“Oh, and Aziraphale,” Gabriel spoke as the meal came to a close. Aziraphale looked up at him with wide eyes, obviously shocked to be spoken to again. He wiped his mouth clean with a napkin, nodding. 

“Yes, brother?” he replied, nervousness shaking his voice. Crowley narrowed his eyes, ready to start a fight if Gabriel dared say another rude thing. 

“Tomorrow,” Gabriel started, “We’ll be having diplomatic meetings with the port cities about the plague. You are expected to attend.” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled, “I remember you telling me of it last week. I will be there.” 

“You are dismissed,” the Queen then said, rather loudly. Both Aziraphale and Crowley whipped their heads to look at her, not sure if her words were intentioned with malice or kindness. But the twinkle in her eye told Crowley that it was the latter. She was letting them make their escape together. 

Crowley stood, bowing slightly, “Thank you for the meal, Your Highness.”

“Of course, Prince,” she replied, then, turning her attention to the prince by his side, “Aziraphale, why don’t you show him the sky? It is a very clear night, perhaps you can catch a shooting star.” Aziraphale jumped up from his seat, bowing as well. 

“Yes, of course!” he nodded, motioning for Crowley to follow him as he exited the room. 

Aziraphale took him back to his room, to Crowley’s confusion. But, as he pulled him to the balcony on the far end of the wall, Crowley understood why.

The sky was clear, he noticed. The stars shone with a luminosity that few could ever hope to reach. Crowley watched them for a moment before looking down at Aziraphale. 

The other man was staring up at the stars with a sense of peacefulness in his eyes. He seemed totally at ease while examining the sky. Crowley couldn’t help but notice that the stars reflected in his circlet, making it look like it was glowing. It was his halo. His wings were fluffy behind him, and Crowley was starstruck. 

“Angel,” he mumbled, pulling his glasses down as he admired the other. 

“Hm?” Aziraphale hummed, as if asking him to repeat himself. His eyes turned to connect with Crowley’s, filled with peace and quiet. 

He was gorgeous.

Crowley felt the same feeling he’d felt a few nights ago, his wings twitching on his back and starting to unfold. But he knew better. He snapped them shut, looking at the ground as pulling his glasses back on. 

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “I’m going to turn in for the night. Goodnight, Young Prince.” With that, Crowley turned tail, rushing back to his own bedroom. 

He was a coward. He knew that. He knew that he was more than attracted to Aziraphale. But he didn’t want his wings to snap open again in front of the Young Prince. He didn’t want to admit to liking him, especially since it was obvious that the other did not like him nearly as much. 

Was it even love? Crowley wouldn’t know. It was attraction, for sure. But was it more? Crowley had never been in love. At least, he was pretty sure that he’d never been. So how was he supposed to know if he was? 

Did it even matter?

They would both be married in a month anyway, perhaps it didn’t even matter if there was anything more than simple attraction between them. Even if they came to loathe one another, the wedding would not be delayed. They would hate each other and be married still. 

It was all rather terrifying. 

So, with that, Crowley fell into a pitiful sleep.


	5. hear my soul speak: the very instant that i saw you, did my heart fly to your service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter in the first half of this fic!   
> After today, updates aren't going to be as often :( my internship started and I am suuuuuper busy   
> I won't abandon this, though! I promise!

Crowley didn’t see much of Aziraphale the next day. The diplomats from a town on the port of the kingdom had arrived halfway through breakfast, so Crowley had been left alone as the meeting started. Crowley wandered the castle for a little, trying to understand the layout a little bit more. After getting bored of that, he listened to a little bit of music, but that only bored him further. So, instead, he went out to his horse to groom him once again. 

Crowley brushed the horse clean, making sure that his tail and mane were immaculate. Then, a quick ride through the forest behind the Ivory Palace worked wonders to drive away both Crowley’s boredom and thoughts of Aziraphale. 

It didn’t mean that Crowley was entirely OK by the time the reached the palace once again. No, he was rather quite annoyed that he wasn’t able to see his fiance again. 

As he walked back to his room, not bothering to rush, he saw Aziraphale emerge from his own room.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out, and the other looked at him with wide eyes. He looked tired, Crowley noticed, bags forming under his eyes and his eyes not holding the same glimmer as previously. 

“Hello, Crowley!” he smiled, “Lovely to see you! My apologies for not speaking to you much today, but I’m quite busy! I will speak to you tomorrow.” 

Crowley huffed but still nodded, walking to his room as Aziraphale hurried off. That night, as Crowley tried to sleep, he heard shuffling and voices from across his closet. Crowley tried to listen further but instead fell asleep. 

The next day was much of the same. The meetings were running long, Aziraphale had told him that morning, the issues ran deeper than they had anticipated. The discussions needed to continue into the next day. And then the next. And then the next. And, even worse, the next. 

Crowley could only watch from the sidelines as he heard Azriaphale working into the late hours of the night. He felt useless as he watched the bags under Aziraphale’s eyes grow darker and his smile getting dimmer.

Soon, it was the fifth day of Crowley’s stay, and he was more than irritated that he hardly got a glimpse of the Young Prince each day. He was annoyed and more than ready to break something. He was here for a reason, and that reason was not to sit and wait for his fiance to get out of diplomatic meetings. 

It was the morning of the sixth day when Crowley was certain that he was going to put his foot down. He was going to demand that Aziraphale spend the day with him, no meetings included.   
He only had to track Aziraphale down first. 

Crowley went into his bedroom first, but there was nothing. He went to the dining room, the sitting room, the breakfast room. But Crowley couldn’t find Aziraphale in any of them. Finally, he demanded that one of the maids take him to the diplomatic hall. They refused, informing him that there were meetings occurring and that he was not to interfere with them. After more arguing, he could not get the maid to take him there, and he was left in the white halls, even huffier than before. 

He was ready to retire back to his room when he saw a pile of books moving along one of the hallways. No, not just a pile of books. There was definitely a body carrying them. Crowley stalked towards it, quickly spotting a familiar tuft of white feathers behind it. 

“Aziraphale!” he shouted, storming at it. The Young Prince looked at him with wide eyes, shocked by Crowley’s obvious anger. 

“Prince Crowley?” Aziraphale stuttered, “I’m very sorry, but I haven’t got much time to chat. I must take these books to the meeting hall, you see, the ambassador-”

Crowley interrupted him by knocking the books to the ground and pushing Aziraphale against the wall. 

“When are you going to have time to chat?” Crowley hissed, spitting out the last word, “Because I’ve been holed up for six days and I’ve hardly gotten a word out of you.”

“Well- I know, but- I- you see, the meetings- the ambassadors,” Aziraphale stumbled over every word that he tried to speak, and Crowley took the opportunity to really look at Aziraphale. 

He looked awful. 

There were heavy bags under his eyes, deeper than the sea. His hair was messy, messier than usual, with strands falling onto his forehead. Even his usually impeccable outfit was wrinkled and not even. 

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked him, frowning at the other man. 

Aziraphale nodded, a small smile forming on his lips, “Yes! Lovely, just peachy!” Crowley sighed, pulling the man in the opposite direction as Aziraphale had been heading. 

“Come on, Angel,” Crowley told him, “You’re going to get some sleep.”

“What?” Aziraphale squeaked, not objecting to the matter. 

“Sleep,” Crowley enunciated, “You know, head on a pillow, close your eyes?”

“Oh hush, hush, I know that!” Aziraphale replied, “What did you call me?” It took Crowley a moment to recall what Aziraphale was talking about, but when he did, he let his eyes meet the Young Prince’s. 

“Angel,” he repeated, “You have angel wings. It fits you.” Crowley watched with smugness as Aziraphale’s face burned a bright red. 

“Al-alright,” he stuttered, his eyes turning to the floor in embarrassment, “That works.”

Crowley was quite proud that he had managed to elicit such a response from the other. 

Crowley quickly shoved Aziraphale into his bed, instructing him to sleep for a few hours. It was sure to help him, he promised. As soon as the Young Prince had hit the pillow, he was asleep. He curled himself up in the bed, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself. Crowley watched his peaceful body for a few minutes before deeming it creepy and leaving the room. He quickly found a maid, asking her to deliver the books that Aziraphale had been carrying. Hopefully, Aziraphale would not be in trouble for not returning. Crowley would try to take the brunt of the damage, for sure. 

After all, Crowley was the one who had done the tempting.

* * *

Aziraphale had woken up the next morning with a start. He hadn’t had a dream, no, his night had been quite empty. But his mind felt clear, the haze from the past few days gone.   
How had he gotten here? He had meetings to attend, he should be sleeping! He had more information to research, they needed to find a solution to the plague that was killing the fish in the Eastern Sea. Aziraphale had been staying up, night after night, to research something that might help. 

Crowley. 

The name rang out in his head, and he whipped around to search for the redhead. Crowley had been the one to put him to bed, he remembered now. To his dismay, Crowley wasn’t anywhere to be found in the book-filled room. 

Aziraphale stumbled to his feet as he rushed out of his bed. What time was it? Oh, this was absolutely awful! how many meetings had he missed? How long had he been out for?  
How badly would he be punished?

A shout came from outside of the door, and Aziraphale’s attention snapped to it. It was Gabriel, no doubt. There was a moment of silence before Gabriel's voice started up, loud and annoying.   
“What do you mean, sleeping?” Gabriel screamed, “He’s a prince, for God’s sake! He needs to attend these meetings!” 

Aziraphale rushed to the door, ready to throw it open when he heard an angry thud, along with more of Gabriel’s shouting. 

“Don’t you disrespect me, Black Prince,” Gabriel demanded, right as Aziraphale exited the room to see the scene in front of him. 

Crowley was on the floor, a trail of blood running down his cheek as he looked up at Gabriel defiantly. Gabriel stood above him, one fist clenched in Crowley’s shirt and the other poised above his head. Aziraphale grabbed Gabriel’s fist, pulling him away from Crowley. 

“No, no, no!” Aziraphale cried, yanking Gabriel further away. But Gabriel was undeniably stronger than Aziraphale and managed to throw Crowley against the opposite wall before turning to Aziraphale. 

“There’s little Sleeping Beauty,” he hissed, towering over Aziraphale in the most intimidating of ways, “What on earth did you think you were doing? Do you know how much you’ve embarrassed us? Our Young Prince disappears halfway through a meeting, only for a maid to show up to deliver what he was supposed to bring us!” 

Aziraphale paused a moment, realizing that the maid had probably been Crowley’s doing, and he shot a quick glance to the other. Crowley was crumpled on the floor, not unconscious, but clearly hurt. 

“P-please Gabriel,” Aziraphale begged, “Let me take him to the nurse, and then we can discuss this.” Gabriel scoffed, stepping back from Aziraphale. 

“Is that really all that you care about?” Gabriel was quaking with anger, “You’ve disgraced the kingdom, and your useless fiance is all you fear for?” Aziraphale looked at the blood running down Crowley’s face as Crowley blinked hazily. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale squeaked. 

Gabriel laughed boisterously, “Then let this be a lesson to you.” He turned and stormed back towards Crowley. Aziraphale was moving within seconds, throwing himself in between the two. He braced himself for Gabriel’s hit, his wings shooting open in a moment of pure courage and panic. 

“Ahem,” a loud voice came from one end of the stairwell. All heads turned to see the Queen, her face stern and angry. 

All of them were silent until Crowley grinned and spoke up, “Welcome, Your Highness.” His voice cracked harshly, and Aziraphale turned back to him, shocked by his words. 

“Oh goodness!” Aziraphale cried, his hands grabbing the man’s face in panic, “Are you alright?” Crowley coughed. Luckily, no blood came out. 

“No,” he groaned, “But there’s one thing, dear Angel, one thing that can make me better.” 

Aziraphale nodded frantically, leaning in slightly closer to the other. 

“The thing is,” he rasped, his voice dropping to a whisper, “A kiss.”

There was silence for a moment as Aziraphale looked at Crowley with shock. Crowley burst out into laughter, wheezing as he cracked himself up. Aziraphale snapped out of his stupor, letting go of Crowley’s face. 

“Well, it seems that you’re quite alright to me!” he smiled, standing and pulling Crowley to his feet beside him. 

The Queen watched the scene warmly before turning to Gabriel, her face turning strict. 

“This is your doing, Gabriel?” she asked, her voice made of pure ice. Gabriel didn’t back down, though, only turning up his nose. 

“It was necessary,” he replied, “Aziraphale needs to be punished for his actions. It’s not my fault that Crowley was in the way.” Crowley leaned heavily on Aziraphale’s side, his injuries keeping him from standing on his own. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, supporting him. 

“Aziraphale does need to be punished, I agree,” she nodded. She opened her mouth to continue speaking when Crowley spoke up. 

“It’s not his damn fault,” Crowley argued, “I was the one who forced him to sleep. He looked like hell. He needed it. If anything, punish me.” Aziraphale looked shocked at his words. 

“Don’t say that!” Aziraphale cried. 

“But,” the Queen continued, ignoring their words, “This is not Crowley’s fault. He will not be hurt for actions that were not his own. Gabriel, your actions were unacceptable.” 

“Are you listening to me?” Crowley demanded, “It was my fault! I deserved that! Just leave Aziraphale alone.” 

Aziraphale was shaking, hard. Crowley’s words were ringing in his head, and he just wasn’t sure what to do or say. 

“Aziraphale, take him to the nurse,” the Queen instructed, “Then, report to my office. Gabriel, come with me.” With that, the Queen turned around and returned from the way that she had come. Gabriel followed with a huff, sending one last glare to Crowley as he turned the corner. 

Aziraphale turned in the opposite direction, helping support Crowley as they walked silently to the infirmary. Aziraphale really wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should he thank Crowley? Should he apologize to him? Probably both. 

Crowley was whisked to one of the beds by the nurse, who bandaged up his face and bruises on his body. He would be fine, she told Aziraphale, he just needed to lay down and rest for a few hours. He would heal in no time. 

Aziraphale sat by his bed for a few minutes, watching the other breath as he built up the courage to thank him. 

“Don’t go to the Queen,” Crowley spoke up first, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale was taken aback. 

“Why would I do that?” he cried, “That would be defying her direct orders!” Crowley shrugged, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Crowley explained. Aziraphale smiled softly, still softened by the prince’s kindness. Aziraphale leaned down to Crowley, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” he replied, before standing up and turning to leave the infirmary. But Crowley kept a firm grip on his hand, yanking hard. 

In a flurry of movements, Aziraphale lost his balance, turned to the side, and fell forward, directly onto Crowley. Crowley’s arms instantly wrapped around him, along with his wings, which had snapped open and folded around them. There was a moment of silence as Aziraphale’s face was buried in Crowley’s chest, and the blood rushed to his face. 

“Um, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, trying to push away, only to be held in place by the other, “What are you doing?” 

“Shush, little Angel,” Crowley replied, “Stay with me.” His voice was rough and quiet, sending shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. Aziraphale was frozen for another moment before he let himself start to melt into Crowley’s warmth. Honestly, it was very hard to keep himself from doing so. The soft blanket of the wings above them, the heat of one another as they clung to one another, slow movements of their breaths. It was like a lullaby, played out with actions instead of voice. 

Soon, both of them were asleep.

* * *

The Queen came looking for Aziraphale not long after. After he hadn’t shown up in her office, she had known that the Eldest Prince of the Black Kingdom had something to do with the disappearance of her youngest son. She beelined to the infirmary, knocking on the marble door. The nurse opened it, quickly shushing her. 

“You must be quiet, Your Highness,” the nurse told her, before guiding her in and pointing at the bed in the center of the room. The Queen raised an eyebrow as she took in the scene in front of her. Young Aziraphale was on top of Prince Crowley, both of them sleeping soundly. Both their wings and arms were wrapped around one another, holding one another close, even in their dreams. The Queen sighed, smiling softly at the innocence of it all. 

“They are just the cutest together,” the nurse said, “They will make lovely kings.” 

“Yes,” the Queen nodded, “Yes, they will.”


	6. love is a spirit all compact of fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha remember four chapters ago when I said that this story was going to end up with 30,000 words? Well, I decided to rewrite the ENTIRE Charcoal Castle half of the story and I think that we're going to be reaching more than that. Wooo.  
> This is kind of a filler chapter? I don't like it much at all but I need time to pass somehow.

In the end, Aziraphale’s punishment was to alphabetize the files on the nobles in the White Kingdom. Not the most fun, for sure, but not the most painful. Not to mention that Crowley had volunteered to help out as well. 

Helping out being sitting on the couch behind him and whining. 

“Alphabetizing? What kind of madness is that?” he complained, “It’s a hell that not even hell could think up! It’s evil! Vile! Diabolic! Nefariou-”

“I know, my dear,” Aziraphale interrupted, placing down the “B” pile, “But I’d take it over watching you bleed any day.” This silenced Crowley for the moment, and Aziraphale moved on to the “C” pile. There was shuffling from the couch, and Aziraphale felt a pair of arms wrapping around his waist a moment later. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, feeling the other rest his head on his shoulder. Aziraphale smiled softly, pecking Crowley’s cheek lightly. Crowley’s wings popped open instantly, blanketing the two of them. A peaceful silence came over them, the only noise being the crinkling of papers and the quiet humming from Crowley, muffled by Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Ever since they had woken up together in the infirmary, Crowley first, with a smile on his face, and Aziraphale next, nearly falling to the floor, the two of them had been very close. Something unspoken had happened, and they found themselves nearly inseparable at every turn. They were constantly touching, either by holding hands or hugging or anything, really. If you found one of them, the other would most certainly be within arm’s length. 

Crowley had even moved his bed into Aziraphale’s room to sleep. Aziraphale was a fairly light sleeper, and he hadn’t been sleeping too well, so Crowley had gladly relocated. He would never admit it, but Crowley adored the color and warmth that Aziraphale’s books and crowded room gave him. It was the opposite of the blank walls of the rest of the Ivory Palace, and it was more than comforting. 

“Prince Aziraphale, Prince Crowley,” a maid entered the room, bowing, “Lunch is served. Would you like me to bring it here?” She didn’t seem very surprised in seeing the two of them wrapped around each other as they were, though Aziraphale blushed lightly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Crowley replied, shifting slightly and letting his wings lazily drop into Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale chuckled. continuing to sort out the papers.  
“Of course, sir,” the maid smiled, closing the door as she went to get the food. 

“You have five days left here,” Aziraphale told Crowley, “We have five days until we head to your kingdom.” With this statement, Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale.  
“I wish that I didn’t have to take you there,” Crowley replied, “You’ll never be comfortable there.”

Aziraphale frowned lightly, turning to look at Crowley, “Well, you’re not quite comfortable here, either.” 

“We need our own kingdom,” Crowley hummed into Aziraphale’s hair, “One that both of us would like. One with a little less white, maybe some shorter hallways.” 

“Lots of books,” Aziraphale added with a smile, making Crawley’s wings puff up lightly in adoration. 

“Lots of books,” he agreed, his face settling back down on Arizaphale’s shoulder happily. 

“I love it already,” Aziraphale told him, placing down his stack of papers and moving onto the next. 

“I’ll make sure to get it for you, Angel” Crowley promised.

* * *

The next day was spent finishing up the alphabetizing, which Crowley continued to, very loudly, complain about. But soon, Aziraphale was done, and the two of them were free to do whatever they pleased. 

“Let’s go horseback riding,” Crowley suggested the next morning, which Aziraphale had quickly agreed to. The two of them threw on their riding gear and ran out to the stables, both of them excited to be out and about. 

“This is Bentley,” Crowley introduced as Aziraphale approached the horse, “He’s a sweetheart.” Aziraphale happily pet the horse’s mane, combing his fingers through it. 

“What a pretty horse!” Aziraphale praised, “So beautiful! What a lovely color!” 

“Hey, hey,” Crowley interrupted, “If you keep praising him like that, he’ll get lazy.” Aziraphale laughed softly, not stopping his petting. 

Crowley got to work, saddling up the stallion and fitting it with its bridle. With a few minutes, Crowley pulled himself on top of the horse. He held out a hand to help Aziraphale on behind him before guiding the horse out of the stables. 

Then, they were off. Bentley was rushing across the field behind the castle, speeding directly towards the forest. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist to keep himself from falling off, holding onto the other for dear life. 

They burst into the forest, the trees passing around them like blurs as the horse kept up his frantic speed. Aziraphale was shocked as Bentley dodged the trees with amazing skill. He leaped over rocks and swerved around trees, finally bursting out in a large clearing. 

The area was clearly natural, with a small stream running along the perimeter and lush, green grass covering the bottom. Aziraphale gasped as he slid off of the horse, taking in the area.  
“This is where we’ll build our home,” Crowley said as he dropped to the ground beside Aziraphale, “Where the air is fresh and the forest is calm and we can live in peace.” 

Aziraphale smiled lightly as he looked up at Crowley, “It sounds absolutely lovely.” They both knew that it was impossible. Leaving behind their lives as royals in order to live in a forest was unheard of. They would be hunted down and murdered for abandoning their Kingdoms. They would be tortured. 

But the thought of spending the rest of their lives together, living off of the land in a quaint cabin in the forest, it was so good. The nights that they would spend curled up with one another, holding onto one another as if they knew that they would never lose the other. The days that they would have, Aziraphale with his books, Crowley with his garden. They would collect water from the stream and grow their own food. They would travel into town periodically, of course, but only to get more books, perhaps some honey and soap, and spices brought in by travelers from other lands. They wouldn't be recognized, wouldn’t be hounded every step they took. They would walk, side-by-side, and know that there was nothing that would hold them down.  
They entertained the thought as they sat in the grass, letting their wings brush the forest floor and their imaginations run wild.

* * *

The next day, much to both Crowley and Aziraphale’s dismay, had to be spent in yet another meeting. Crowley had been rather grumpy about it when he had woken up to see Aziraphale already dressing in his diplomat suit, but Aziraphale had promised him a present, so Crowley had kept his mouth firmly shut. 

Crowley spent the day packing. They were going to be going down to the Charcoal Castle the morning after tomorrow, so he figured that he might as well prepare himself to leave. He was going to miss the Ivory Palace, that was for sure. 

Even though Crowley knew it, he was desperately trying to ignore the information that he already knew. The information that poor Aziraphale was going to have to live in the Charcoal Castle after this. Permanently. 

Crowley was going to be the king there, after all. Aziraphale was not going to be king, either in the White Kingdom or in the Black Kingdom. So, as the law goes, he would have to stay with Crowley in his castle. 

Aziraphale was going to hate it. Crowley already knew that. He was going to hate the mess of it all. He would hate the cramped walls, the constant stream of people passing through. He would hate how dark it was, he would hate how the ceilings were too low and how there was a thin layer of grime on everything. 

He would get his wings dirty. Crowley would hate that. 

Crowley drafted up a letter to his advisors in the castle, praying that it would reach them in time. The letter instructed them to scrub down the castle and kick out as many visitors that they could without upsetting other kingdoms. He quickly handed it off to a maid, praying that, perhaps, it would help the Young Prince enjoy his stay.


	7. the sight of lovers feedeth those in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I took so long with this chapter! My biggest fear is not being exactly ten chapters ahead of the one that I'm posting so I took extra time to write.   
> I like the concept of this chapter, but not how I wrote it. I think that I'm going to rewrite it after I finish with the rest of the story. Also, fireworks didn't really exist around the time that this story takes place, but this is self-indulgent, so I don't care.

The Young Prince, meanwhile, sat at a table with the Queen, Gabriel, and Uriel. They were worried, quite a bit so, over the next few days. 

“The Scarlett and Oil Princesses will arrive there two days after your own arrival,” Gabriel spoke, “You have these two days to make the people of the castle absolutely admire you. The King, the advisors, even the maids!” 

Over the week, Uriel had done some digging into the intentions of the princess’s visit and found it to be exactly what they had expected: They were planning on winning Prince Crowley’s hand by making a fool of Aziraphale. Though they weren’t sure about the specifics of this plan, they all knew that it had to be avoided at all costs. They couldn’t let Aziraphale’s position fall into the hands of one of the other kingdoms. It was critical. 

“You have to ensure that you are deemed as the best option for Prince Crowley,” the Queen stated, her voice stern, “You cannot let them turn you away.” 

“Prince Crowley and I are very close,” Aziraphale replied proudly, “I doubt that he would let me be replaced.”

“It does not matter what Prince Crowley thinks,” the Queen scolded, “The King has the choice to change everything. You must convince him.”

It hurt Aziraphale to be having this discussion. He knew that his wedding was merely a chess piece in the politics of the kingdoms. It was a piece that the princesses thought that they could steal. One that Gabriel clearly wanted to manipulate. It wasn’t a bond, it wasn’t anything meaningful for the others. Only a power that needed to be secured. 

Aziraphale wished that he could tell Crowley about it all. He wished that he could convince the other man to help him, to love him and only him. If Crowley knew about the princess’s plans, he would surely help Aziraphale to stop them. But it had already been deemed that the best route to take was one of innocence. As the Queen had said, if Aziraphale told him and Crowley didn’t believe him, he would only end up looking paranoid and distrustful. Besides, what if the princesses really didn’t have bad intentions? What if they really were only intending a perfectly normal diplomatic meeting? It would reflect awfully off of Aziraphale. 

So Aziraphale said nothing.

* * *

The next morning, the two princes were in a carriage, heading towards the town. Aziraphale’s surprise was waiting there, he had promised. Dressed in casual clothes with only a circlet announcing their status, both of them were currently wrapped around one another. Aziraphale had leaned heavily against Crowley, to which Crowley responded by wrapping his arm around the other and holding him even closer. 

The trip was not long. After all, they were only traveling to the village that was underneath the mountain that the Ivory Palace was balanced on. A village that, as Crowley noticed, was currently covered in colorful tapestry and streamers. 

“Is today a holiday?” Crowley asked the other, nudging him lightly. Their two kingdoms were known to celebrate different occasions, so it was the first explanation that Crowley could think of.   
“No,” Aziraphale smiled as the carriage came to a stop, “It’s a festival!” He quickly wiggled his way out of Crowley’s grip, hopping out and offering a hand to the other prince. Crowley gladly took it, looking around the city with awe. 

It was covered in decorations and string lights. Vendors stood out on the streets between stores. Storefront windows were filled with the best goods that each of the stores could offer, from freshly baked pastries to beautifully carved statues. Lanterns were strung between storefronts, lighting up the streets. Pieces of colored broken glass were tied up beside the lanterns, letting the sun reflect them and create beautiful mosaics of colors on the storefronts and walkways below. 

Crowley was caught up in the brightness of it all. It was so alive, so gorgeously vibrant. Everything was so energetic, so vivacious. Crowley watched as two youngsters ran by him and Aziraphale, trailing kites on short strings behind them. They squealed in happiness as their kites remained airborne as they bolted down the next street. 

It was so beautiful. 

Crowley looked back at Aziraphale, motioning to the festival around him.

“Why, though? If not a holiday, why a festival?” Crowley asked him. Aziraphale squeezed his hand, beaming up at him as he started. 

“Well, you see, the festival was supposed to happen during our wedding. But, since it was called off,” he trailed off slightly for a moment before picking up again, “So I asked them to hold it today instead! so that we could attend together!” The excitement in his voice was evident, and, with a smile from Crowley, the two of them were off. 

Aziraphale absolutely adored the street food, Crowley quickly found out. He happily tried food from nearly every vendor that they passed, complimenting each and every one of them on their excellent cooking. Crowley, of course, found it endearing, even trying some of the foods that Aziraphale particularly adored. 

Along the way, Aziraphale continuously picked up small trinkets for Crowley. First, a small woven bracelet, colored blue and red. Then, a quill pen with jewels beaded onto it. A charm with a tree on it, that was supposed to bring him luck and prosperity. Even a pair of earrings with blood-red rubies embedded in it. Crowley accepted each and every one of them with a smile and an unspoken promise that he was going to find something for Aziraphale in return. But, at each and every stall, he could never seem to find something good enough. 

An hour before sunset, and Aziraphale had left Crowley, saying that he needed to say hello to an old friend. Crowley didn’t mind, as it gave him time to scour the market for a present. 

He was admiring a set of small knives when a sudden noise caught his attention. It was a voice singing from down the street. Crowley followed it to see a young woman sitting on the side of the road, a guitar clutched in her arms. She strummed it and sang along to the chords, but not to any song that Crowley recognized. She must have been making it up off of the top of her head, he realized. 

He listened to her for a minute more, letting her soft voice drift over the city block before approaching her. 

“Hello, Miss?” he asked, leaning down to talk to her. She stopped her singing, her eyes snapping up to look at him. 

“Welcome, Sir,” she replied with a smile, “Can I help you?” 

“Yes,” Crowley nodded, pointing her guitar, “Where did you buy that lovely thing?” 

“Oh, this?” she frowned, looking at her instrument, “My father made it for me as a child. Why do you wonder?” 

“It’s just magnificent,” Crowley explained, “I would like to get one for my fiance.” The woman pondered his words for a minute before holding the instrument up for him.

“Have it,” she told him, “I think that your fiance should have it.” Crowley was quick to shake his head, stepping back. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to take it from you,” he refused, “It would be cruel of me.”

“I’m to be married by the end of the month,” she spoke calmly to him, “I will be shipped off to the Cerulean Kingdom, across the sea. My fiance, you see, he doesn’t love me much. He won’t let me keep the guitar. But you! You obviously care about your fiance. Please, give it to them. I would be more than happy to see it in the hands of a happy couple.” 

Crowley was struck by her words, and he slowly lifted the guitar from her hands. He stared at her for another moment before lifting the circlet from off of his head and handing it to her.   
“Take this in return,” he told her, “It is the circlet of the Prince of the Black Kingdom. It can only begin to show my appreciation for your actions. Perhaps it will be helpful to you.” Her eyes widened as she accepted it from him, her hands shaking as she held it. 

“Prince Crowley,” she mumbled, realizing who she was speaking to. She bowed, but Crowley pulled her back up. 

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he smiled, “I wish you luck in your future.” With that, he turned and walked away, not daring to look back at the woman. He didn’t want to see the tears that ran down her face as she clutched the silver circlet, her life changed forever. 

Crowley made his way to the edge of the town, to where he was supposed to meet up with Aziraphale once again. Crowley sat on the edge of the forest, in a grassy patch. He placed the guitar on the ground behind him, not wanted to hold onto it himself. He felt unworthy of it. 

Aziraphale came bouncing up to him a few minutes later, sitting beside him. He looked at Crowley, frowning as he noticed the lack of a circlet on his head. 

“Don’t ask,” Crowley mumbled before Aziraphale could open his mouth. But the tone of his voice told Aziraphale everything, and Aziraphale smiled softly. 

“Move here,” Aziraphale replied, patting the spot in front of him. Crowley did so, letting Aziraphale wrap his legs around him. Within a moment, Aziraphale’s hands were in Crowley’s hair, brushing it off of his face and separating it into neat sections. Crowley felt his hair weaved into neat braids, and he recalled the maid telling him that Aziraphale was amazing at braiding. 

“Your Kingdom is beautiful,” Crowley told Aziraphale as he looked out on the expanses of streets that were still covered in bright lights and happy people. The sky was starting to get dark, so the vendors were now illuminated by the lanterns above them. 

“It is,” Aziraphale agreed, “But the people are not peaceful. They crave war. It is tearing us apart.” Crowley was shocked at his words. This kingdom? Craving war? It seemed impossible. 

“You’re serious?” Crowley asked, trying to twist his head to look at Aziraphale, only to have Aziraphale push it back. 

“Sadly,” Aziraphale sighed, “They want to fight for power and dominance. I don’t want to but, well, who am I to say?”

“You’re their prince,” Crowley answered his rhetorical question, “You have every right to say!” 

Aziraphale tied off Crowley’s braid, changing the topic by saying, “There, it is finished!” Crowley pulled the short braid to look at it, seeing golden string intertwined in his hair and flowers braided in beside it. 

“You’re trying to make me look soft, Angel,” Crowley groaned, though he secretly adored the braid. 

Aziraphale chuckled, “Of course, my apologies.” He wrapped his arms around the other, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I have a present for you,” Crowley said suddenly, rolling away from Aziraphale and grabbing the guitar. He presented it to the other, focusing only on the instrument. 

“It’s not the most elegant or sparkly, but it’s one of a kind,” he told Aziraphale, “I thought that you might like it, because I know that you like music, and I figured that you could learn some of your own.” Within a moment, Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley. 

“It’s so wonderful!” Aziraphale cried, pulling away and taking the guitar from his hands. Crowley was still blushing as Aziraphale strummed the strings, playing and experimenting with each and every note. The music was beautiful, but it didn’t last long as a loud BOOM rang out in the air. 

Crowley jumped up, but Aziraphale grabbed his arm and pulled him back down quickly. 

“Look,” Aziraphale pointed, and Crowley saw the cause of the noise. There was a spot of color in the sky, and with another BOOM, another explosion of color. 

Fireworks. 

Aziraphale watched the colors happily, leaning on Crowley as they continued exploding in the sky. Crowley tried to focus on the fireworks, he really did, but he loved the way that the colors reflected in Aziraphale’s eyes. It added a new layer of color, a new layer of brightness to his eyes. 

“Did you see that one?” Aziraphale suddenly gasped, head turning to look at Crowley, “It was so lovely, did you see-” He cut himself off as he saw Crowley’s eyes on him, both of them seemingly frozen in time. Aziraphale was like a star, Crowley thought, he was just so bright, so beautiful. He was everything that anyone could want. 

Crowley couldn’t help himself. He leaned down further, hardly a centimeter between the two of them. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Crowley mumbled, his arm snaking around Aziraphale’s waist. 

“Please do,” Aziraphale whispered, and that was it. Crowley surged down to press his lips against Aziraphale’s, and the fireworks were suddenly against their own skin. Both of their wings snapped open, blocking them out from the rest of the world as heat poured against their skin. 

Bodies flush against one another, the two stayed like that until the late hours of the night.


	8. love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter took so long! I was on a small vay-cay.  
> I hate this chapter but I wrote it around the time that I accidentally stabbed my own hand so that explains the awful quality.

Another wall was broken down between the two of them that night because, the next morning, they kissed one another as they woke up. It was groggy, and more teeth than kiss, but neither really minded. They only grabbed their bags, saying goodbye to their rooms and the Queen, before heading off to the Charcoal Castle.

This trip lasted a little bit longer than yesterday’s, Crowley falling back asleep against Aziraphale’s side as Aziraphale watched the scenery pass by. Aziraphale had never been to the Charcoal Castle, and he felt his nerves building up as they inched closer. 

He had two days to get comfortable in the Charcoal Castle. Two days before the princesses would show up and try to steal everything that he had been working on for the last two weeks. Two days before the perfect pair of black wings wrapping around him would be pursued by two others. 

Aziraphale sighed, leaning further into the side of the man sitting beside him. He wanted Crowley’s dark suit and firewood smell to take over his thoughts and keep any memory of the princesses out of his head. 

Crowley stirred lightly around him, only enough to tuck Aziraphale further into his wing before falling back to sleep. 

Aziraphale got no rest for the rest of the trip. He could only sit and worry about what was to come. As they approached the Charcoal Castle, his eyes grew wide. The castle was the polar opposite of the Ivory Palace. The Ivory Palace was sleek, elegant, sterile. It was built to show everything that royalty should be: cool, calm, collected. But, here, the Charcoal Castle was the opposite. 

It was dark, for one. It had earned its name from the black bricks that had been used to build the castle. The Black Kingdom had been built up in times of extreme poverty, when it broke off from the White Kingdom. Looking at the crude building style of the castle, the short towers, the lack of decoration, it was obvious to tell. 

Another thing that the Charcoal Castle had that the Ivory Palace didn’t have was the people. Even from outside, Aziraphale could see people coming and going through the front doors. They were all dressed in varying fashions, none of them similar to the very traditional attire that Aziraphale and his kingdom preferred. 

“Like what you see?” Crowley asked, making Aziraphale jump. Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed him waking up. Crowley shook out his wing, retracting it to fold against his back, yawning as he did so. 

“It is very different than what I’m used to,” Aziraphale replied, not wanting to lie, “It will definitely be an experience!” 

Crowley snorted, pressing a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, “It’s alright, I hate it too.” 

“That’s not wha-” Aziraphale started protesting, but Crowley jumped out of the carriage, offering a hand to the other. Aziraphale hesitantly took it, letting Crowley pull him out onto the street and towards the castle. 

“We’re going to play a game,” Crowley said, keeping up a brisk pace as he sauntered to the front doors, “It’s called ‘Avoid My Father At All Costs’. Let’s see how good you are.” Aziraphale frowned, rushing to keep up beside Crowley. 

“Are you sure that that’s a good idea, my dear?” he asked, clutching Crowley’s hand. 

“We suck at this game,” Crowley groaned, not answering Aziraphale. Aziraphale saw what he meant when, a moment later, he spotted the King standing in the gate. 

“Prince Crowley. Prince Aziraphale. A pleasure to see you,” the man said, his voice cold. He was a tall and slender man, wearing a dark black suit. He had black hair that was combed back along his head and dark eyes that were hardly visible beneath his bushy eyebrows. Azirapahel was quite spooked by him, choosing to try and hide as much of himself as he could behind Crowley. 

“Hello, Father,” Crowley hissed, his voice filled with malice. Aziraphale only smiled and waved politely, still cowering behind the other. 

“Come, I’ll lead you and Prince Aziraphale to your room,” the King ignored Crowley’s rude tone, only turning and starting to head down the hallway. Crowley couldn’t even argue with his father, only following him with a huff. Aziraphale clutched his hand, squeezing it lightly as they walked. Crowley sent him a small smile before returning his eyes to look on the halls in front of him. 

The castle was dark and grimy on the inside. Bodies wandered the halls, though not with purpose, like the maids in the Ivory Palace did. These people were joking with others, gossiping, and taking their time as they passed the King and the two princes. Many of them didn’t even bother bowing for the royalty, much to Aziraphale’s horror. That kind of behavior would never be accepted in the Ivory Palace. Not that the Ivory Palace had many visitors, save for the party guests that they had every so often. 

Aziraphale kept close to Crowley as they dodged the crowds and wound their way to a set of doors. 

“I’m afraid that, with the guests that will be arriving in a few days, we won’t have an extra bedroom for Prince Aziraphale,” the King told the two of them as they reached the door, “So he will be staying in your room, Crowley.” 

“Guests?” Crowley asked, clearly confused, “What guests are more important than my fiance?” Though it was probably the wrong time to be thinking about these sorts of things, Aziraphale realized that it was the first time that Crowley had referred to him as his fiance since the wedding. Aziraphale couldn’t help but blush. But the next words ruined the moment for him altogether.

“The Scarlett Princess and the Sulfur Princess,” the King replied, pulling out the nicknames of the princesses that Aziraphale had nearly forgot, “You call them War and Pollution.”

* * *

Crowley groaned loudly, his head buried in his pillow. Aziraphale tried comforting him, his fingers running through his black wings. 

“I’m sure it’ll be alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “We can play that game again? What did you call it?” 

Crowley turned his head so that he was looking up at Aziraphale, “Avoid My Father At All Costs?” 

“Yes!” Aziraphale smiled, “But with the princesses instead!” Crowley snorted in laughter, his face going soft for a moment. It only lasted a moment, though, as his face reverted back to it’s annoyed state. 

“They’re so awful, we’ll never be able to escape them,” Crowley sighed, “I used to have to spend a lot of time with them. They were evil, I’m telling you.” 

“I’m sure you’re telling the truth,” Aziraphale nodded, not stopping his petting, “But we’ll work through it! It’s a skill we have to learn for the future anyways!” 

Crowley groaned loudly, “How are you always so damn positive? We’re about to have two of the biggest assholes bugging us and you’re willing to put up with it!” 

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, leaning down to kiss Crowley’s cheek, “Because I think that it’s worth putting up with if I’m with you.” Crowley sat up, taking Aziraphale’s face in his hands. 

“You,” he said, “You are going to be the death of me, Angel.” Azirapahle smiled softly, happy to see the other prince exit his gloomy state. 

At this very moment, someone knocked at the door, and both of the men turned to look at it. 

“Sir Crowley, I’ve come with Prince Aziraphale’s clothes,” a voice called from the other side. 

“Enter,” Crowley replied, dropping Aziraphale’s cheeks and straightening up. The door swung open, revealing a short blond man with dark eyes and a suitcase in his arms. Aziraphale quickly recognized him as the person that had been sitting next to Crowley at the party weeks back. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you back, Sir,” the man said, “Glad to see you and your fiance in good health.” 

“Just put the box down and leave, Hastur,” Crowley ordered his voice sharp. Aziraphale was quite shocked by his rude tone to a person who seemed to care about him, but didn’t bother mentioning it. As the man placed down his luggage and turned to leave the room, Aziraphale heard why. 

“Spoiled brat,” the man, Hastur, mumbled, before slamming the door shut. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” Aziraphale whined, watching the door as he left. 

“I’m not nice, Angel,” Crowley shrugged, “I thought you figured that out by now.” 

“No, no, not you,” Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively, “That man. He seemed quite rude.” 

Crowley was silent for a moment, watching Aziraphale with wide eyes before replying, “Yeah, he’s a jackass.” 

“Watch your language, my dear,” Aziraphale scolded, finally turning to give a soft glare to Crowley, “It’s not proper for princes to curse.” 

Crowley barked a small laugh, “You’re criticizing me for cursing, but not for snapping at my advisor?” 

Aziraphale shrugged, “I pick my battles.”

Crowley grinned, kissing his forehead, “You pick them well, Angel.”


	9. they are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together; clubs cannot part them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to be able to post another chapter for a few days? So I'm giving you guys this one early! It's short, and the last chapter was awful, so you guys deserve it. And a huge thank you for all of the support!!

Aziraphale really liked the Charcoal Castle. Not because of the people, or the mess, or the color. Not because it was particularly welcoming or nice. No, Aziraphale liked it because of it’s utter lack of rules. 

The Ivory Palace was very uptight with its instructions. Breakfast was served an hour before sunrise, no later, no earlier. Lunch was at exactly noon. Dinner was half an hour after sundown. There were no guests without a prior appointment, all meetings had to be attended on time and without fail, there was no running in the halls. It all drove Aziraphale insane. 

But it wasn’t like that in the Charcoal Castle. He could wake up late and still have food. He could eat in Crowley’s bedroom, the two of them leaning over plates that were precariously balanced on his bed. There were no meetings, no appointments. He could just stay with Crowley all day, chatting and complaining and causing trouble. 

Which is precisely what they were doing at the moment as they precariously placed a bucket of water on the edge of the doorframe, leaning it lightly against the wall. 

“Are you sure that this will work?” Aziraphale asked, frowning at the contraption, “And he won’t get mad at us?” 

“Of course it’ll work,” Crowley scoffed, “But he’ll definitely be mad at us.” Aziraphale sighed lightly, but didn’t stop the other as he stepped away from the door. Crowley had a terrifyingly evil grin on his face as he looked up at his contraption. Aziraphale knew that smiles like that were what had landed Crowley in the Black Kingdom instead of the White Kingdom. 

“What do we do next?” Aziraphale questioned, “Do we just have to wait?”

“Of course not,” Crowley scoffed, clapping his hands together, “Now we scream.” Much to Aziraphale’s horror, Crowley did so, starting to call for help. 

“Hastur! Ligur! Anyone!” he yelled, “Help me! Shit, help me!” He paused a minute to chuckle, and Aziraphale took that moment to hide behind the curtains so that he wouldn’t be seen by whoever entered. This only caused Crowley to laugh harder, and he doubled down in silent giggles. 

This, however, was the perfect performance. Someone did come to the door, and, seeing Crowley doubled over and convulsing through the small crack in the door, swung the door open to help him. As he did, the bucket was no longer precariously balanced on the door, and fell onto the man’s head. The bucket clanged to the floor loudly, and the man stood still as Crowley erupted into laughter. Aziraphale poked his head out to look, and couldn’t help but snort lightly at the scene, calling attention to himself. The man whipped to the side to look at him, causing him to quickly retreat into the curtains. 

“Eldest Prince,” the man said, his voice filled with malice, “What were you hoping to accomplish with this?” 

“Loosen up, Ligur!” Crowley replied, still laughing as he placed his hands on the man’s shoulders, “It’s all in good fun.” 

“Good fun?” Ligur spat, “I would not call that good fun, Prince.” 

“I would,” Crowley argued, though the mocking smile never left his face, “Go get cleaned off, won’t you?” 

Ligur turned and left, grumbling as he kicked the bucket out into the hall and slammed the door shut behind him. As soon as he did, Aziraphale slowly emerged from his hiding place, sharing a glance with Crowley. When their eyes connected, they were both laughing again, nearly rolling on the floor.

* * *

Dinner was served in Crowley’s bed again that night. All of it had been delivered to his door, and the two princes spread it out around the huge bed and feasted. They had dishes balanced on their legs and laid out on the bedsheets. Their wings were open and out in an attempt to keep their feathers out of the food. 

Crowley ate significantly less than Aziraphale, they both noticed, but it was a dynamic that neither of them really minded. In fact, Aziraphale thought it quite funny. In the Ivory Palace, meals were carefully monitored and counted. But, in the Charcoal Castle, food seemed available at every turn. Based off of this, it seemed like Crowley would be the one who ate more. Not that it really mattered. Both of them liked it the way it was. 

After the meal, all of the dishes were stacked near the door, and the two of them found themselves curled up on the balcony overlooking the mines. Another big difference of the palaces were their surroundings. While the Ivory Palace was surrounded by forest, gardens and a town at the bottom of the hill, the Charcoal Castle was surrounded by the coal and jewel mines, with the town right outside of its front gates. 

Aziraphale sat sandwiched between Crowley’s legs, Crowley’s arms wrapped around his waist. Aziraphale’s wings were hanging loose as to not get into Crowley’s face. 

But, most noticeably, was the guitar in Aziraphale’s grip. He was strumming it lightly, humming along as he picked at the strings. No particular song was playing, only random chords and notes sewn together to make a flowing melody. No words were passed between them as Aziraphale played, the calmness of the music soothing both of them into silence. 

The perfect moment passed as a worry crawled into their throats, where it had been scratching all day. 

“Angel,” Crowley finally spoke up, and Aziraphale stopped his playing. 

Aziraphale sighed, his head still looking at the strings, “We need to talk, my dear.” 

“I know,” replied Crowley, “War and Pollution. The two princesses. What will we do about them?”

“There’s not much we can do,” answered Aziraphale, “We’ll have to deal with them the best we can.” 

“I think that we should make a pact,” Crowley stated, “An agreement.” 

“A pact?” frowned Aziraphale, looking up at the other. The angle was a little bit awkward, but Crowley’s wings moved to blanket the two of them, and it was comfortable. 

“Every night,” Crowley started, “When we come back to bed. No matter whether or not we spent the day together or with the guests. When we return to bed, we talk. We tell each other what the hell is going on and how we feel. So that there aren't any misunderstandings or fears between us.”

Aziraphale smiled softly, “That’s quite soft of you, my dear.” Crowley turned away, hiding the blood rushing to his face. 

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled. 

“I think that it’s a wonderful idea,” Aziraphale agreed, leaning up and kissing Crowley’s jaw, the only skin within reach. 

Crowley looked back down at him, pulling his face up and letting their lips collide.


	10. to be wise and love, exceeds man’s might

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found my newest hobby, which is obsessing over boys who probably hate me. It's taking up a lot of my time, which is why I'm falling behind with this story :( (though, to be fair, sitting by my phone waiting for a boy to text me is far more exciting than editing the awful first draft that I had for this fic.)  
> Also, I don't know if I have to say this or not, but the chapter titles are all Shakespeare quotes. I don't claim credit for any of his beautiful words.

Crowley and Aziraphale were up at the crack of dawn, waiting outside of the castle. They stood with both anticipation and fear, watching the street for the carriages that should be pulling up at any moment. 

Their hands were intertwined, last night’s promise lingering between the two of them as they stood in silence. They would stand through whatever was about to come. They would stay together. 

The King had told the two of them that he would be arriving later to greet the princesses. He wanted Crowley to be the first face that the girls saw as they finished their long journey to the Charcoal Castle. Crowley was more than upset by this information, but he didn’t dare defy his father. 

A red carriage pulled up, driven by two horses. One was a bright brown and the other a dark brown, nearly black. The door swung open, and, with a dramatic flourish, a woman stepped out. She had flaming hair and a smirk on her face that radiated chaos. 

“Prince Crowley!” she greeted as she swaggered up to him. Even though she puffed out her chest in order to make herself bigger, Crowley still towered over her. It made Aziraphale a little bit self-conscious about his own size, but he swallowed it down. 

“Scarlett Princess,” he replied, his voice dropping as he spoke his next word, “War.” Aziraphale quickly saw how these two could clash. He could already tell that they were both mischievous, both chaotic, both troublemakers. But, instead of being crazy together, they hated one another. They would only end up colliding in the worst ways. 

“Get one of your minions to take our horses to the stables, will you, dear?” she asked him, “You know how much we love to ride.”

“We?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. War’s face cracked into a large grin as she turned and motioned to another figure emerging from the carriage. 

He was a man with dark skin and a very classy aura to him. He fixed his tie as he walked up to the group, holding out his hand to Crowley to shake. 

“It’s been a while since I saw you, old pal,” he smiled. His grin reminded Aziraphale of Gabriel’s, in the sense that it was clearly fake. 

“Famine,” Crowley scowled, “What are you doing here?” The man, famine, dropped his hand, shrugging lightly. 

“I figured that it would be a shame if only half of the old gang were meeting up again,” War answered, “So I invited him with me.” 

Crowley’s eyes widening, his eyes shooting back to the street, “Does that mean-” 

He was cut off by another carriage pulling up the street, but his eyes looked fearful. It scared Aziraphale. 

This carriage had two horses again, one white and the other one was rather unnatural. It was white with black spots, but it looked wholey unhealthy, as if it were only skin and bones. Aziraphale reminded himself to try to feed the poor thing later. 

A person with short white hair and pale eyes hopped out. The Sulfur Princess. She was much more elegant than War had been as she approached Crowley. There was a black crown on her head, Aziraphale noticed, a crown that didn’t seem to fit her white aesthetic at all. 

“Pleasure to see you, Prince Crowley,” she said, her voice as emotionless as her face. 

“Pollution,” Crowley nodded, “You’re sensible, please tell me, you didn’t bring Death, did you?” Pollution’s mouth split open into a grin that creeped Aziraphale out more than anything he’d ever witnessed. 

“It wouldn’t be a proper reunion if we hadn’t,” she replied. With those words, all eyes turned towards the carriage. Waiting for the person known as “Death”. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder where the four friends had gotten their strange names from. How did someone get dubbed “Death”, and why was Crowley so scared of him? And, if they had all been friends when they were younger, why didn’t Crowley have one of those nicknames?

A figure stepped out of the carriage, his body covered in a large trench coat. Aziraphale couldn’t see his face, and it was quite unnerving. He seemed to glide towards the group, his body moving unnaturally. Not to mention that he was tall, really tall. Strangely tall. 

“Crowley,” he spoke, his voice hollow and deep, “It has been years.”

“Why are you here?” Crowley asked, “And don’t tell me it’s for a reunion, because I know that that’s bullshit.” 

The man, Death, chuckled, “There is a storm on its way, Crowley. I do not plan to miss it.” At that moment, a shiver went down the backs of everyone in the group, and Aziraphale could understand why he was called Death. 

“You gonna take us inside, Prince?” War asked, snapping everyone out of their trances. 

“We don’t have enough guest rooms for you all,” Crowley stated, matter-of-factly, as if he were grasping at straws. Famine gave the large castle a wary glance. 

“You don’t have four free rooms at all?” he asked, “In that entire thing?”

“Aziraphale and I already had to move into the same room,” Crowley nodded. At the mention of him, all attention snapped to the smaller prince. Suddenly, the group of four were nearly on top of him. 

“Oh, Aziraphale! You must be Crowley’s fiance! It’s lovely to meet you!” War smiled, pinching his cheek lightly in a mocking way, making Aziraphale pull away. 

“Haha, yes, it’s a pleasure,” he replied, attempting to fake a smile. 

“You look a little tubby there, Aziraphale,” Famine said, his voice filled with fake charm, “You should try some of my food, I’ve got this great no-food food that you would love!” 

Luckily, War saved Aziraphale from having to reply with a quick, “Lay off of him, Famine, we’ve just met him.” 

Pollution held out her hand to shake, “Nice to meet you, Young Prince Aziraphale.” Aziraphale shook it but quickly pulled back when he found that it was sticky and wet. She didn’t seem to notice, even as he wiped his hand on his pants. 

Death waited until the others went back to bugging Crowley about the rooms until he spoke to Aziraphale. 

“I believe that we have met before, Young Aziraphale,” Death said, his voice cold as a winter’s storm. 

“Have we?” Aziraphale frowned, sure that he would’ve remembered such a strange figure. 

“Yes,” Death nodded, “Your father’s funeral. It was a very long time ago. I would not be insulted if you did not remember. It was a trying time for you.” Aziraphale was shocked by his words. His father had died when he was only ten. 

“I hardly remember that entire week,” Aziraphale replied, “Nonetheless the funeral. My apologies.” Aziraphale couldn’t see his face, but he could’ve sworn that Death gave him a smile. 

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Crowley called to him, “We’re going to see if there are enough rooms for all of these hooligans.” War laughed loudly at that word, and Famine gave a slight scoff. 

As Aziraphale turned to bid Death a nice day, Death grabbed his arm. 

“We need to talk, Young Aziraphale,” he said, “Find me, and soon.” 

Then, his arm was gone, and he was too, already moving towards the other three guests. Aziraphale was frozen for another moment before he rushed to catch up with Crowley.

* * *

Instead of looking for extra rooms, Crowley stomped right now to the King’s office. It was something that Aziraphale would never dream of doing, and was quite shocked that Crowley was doing. Coming from a person who’s favorite game was called “Avoid My Father At All Costs”, Crowley was not quite the kind of person who would be avidly seeking out his father. 

He reached a door and pounded on it, not relenting until the door swung open. 

“Yes, Crowley,” the King, who had opened the door, replied, his voice tried. 

“All four of them are here,” Crowley told him, pointing in the direction of the front gate. 

“All four of who?” the King asked, frowning. Crowley hung his head. 

“The horseman, who else!” he yelled, “War and Pollution brought Famine and Death!” 

“And? They’re castle guests, Crowley,” the King shrugged, obviously annoyed by his son’s dramatic affairs, “Plus, you should really stop using those childish nicknames.”

“You remember what you said last time they were here!” Crowley continued, ignoring his father’s comment, “That the next time the four of them got together, something catastrophic would happen!” 

The King chuckled darkly, “Well, who am I to stop fate?” Crowley groaned, his hands clawing at his face. He finally huffed, hunching down before looking back up at the King. 

“Do we have rooms for them?” Crowley asked, giving up his argument.

“Just empty out the rooms across from the rooms that the princesses were supposed to stay in,” the King instructed. Crowley grumbled as he started walking in that direction, and Aziraphale followed closely behind. 

“Crowley, may I ask a question?” Aziraphale frowned, patting Aziraphale’s back lightly. 

“What is it, Angel?” Crowley replied, not looking back at the other. 

“Why is it so bad that there are four of them?” Aziraphale questioned. Crowley sighed, turning to Aziraphale. 

“How do I put this? They conduct each other, in a way,” Crowley started, “When they’re separated, they cause chaos, but it’s not that bad. They like to target people, and, on their own, they can’t cause that much damage. But when they’re together, when they all focus on the same person, they’ll destroy them. They used to live here, in the Black Kingdom. But there’s a reason why our Queen is locked up in the dungeons, half lunatic. The reason is that four.”

Aziraphale was quite shocked at hearing this, and rightfully so. Many people knew that the Queen of the Black Kingdom had gone insane, but many assumed that it was natural. Not caused by four people, the four people who had just entered the Charcoal Castle. 

After kicking the guests out of their rooms, Aziraphale found himself alone with Crowley as they cleaned the rooms. 

“Will you tell me more about them?” Aziraphale asked as he filled up boxes with the previous guest’s items. 

Crowley sighed, but nodded lightly, “They’re awful. I’ll tell you, but take it as a word of warning. Don’t get close to them.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed quickly. Crowley took a deep breath before starting. 

“War is the worst. At least to me, she is,” he scowled, “She’s ruthless and takes no heed on what consequences her actions might have. She’s carefree, too carefree. She’ll start fights, provide ammunition to destroy people without getting her hands dirty. I can’t stand her. 

“Famine is dangerous, but in a quiet way. He’ll urge you to lose your desires, what you strive for. We call him famine, not only because of his obsession with skinny people, but because he’ll stave the motivation out of people. He’ll leave them withered and half-dead. 

“We used to call Pollution Pestilence, but they didn’t like the nickname much and wanted us to change it. They’re disgusting. Probably the most mentally unstable of them all. They want to see the world go to waste, it’s part of their twisted fantasy.”

Crowley went quiet for a few moments, Aziraphale watching him with wide eyes. 

“And Death?” Aziraphale nearly whispered the words. Death fascinated him, for some reason. Maybe it was because of how much he stood out from the other three? Maybe it was because of the words that he had spoken to him. 

Maybe it had been from the horrid expression that Crowley had on his face when Death had first stepped out of the carriage. 

“Death,” Crowley started, shivering lightly, “Death is not like the others. He’s reserved. Cunning. You won’t realize his intentions until you’re so far tangled in his web that you can’t escape. No matter what you do, don’t get involved with him.” 

Aziraphale paled as he remembers his conversation, his voice small as he asked, “What are his intentions?”

Crowley laughed darkly, “To kill.”


	11. love hath made thee a tame snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to make a thousand excuses for taking so long to upload this chapter! And I'm so sorry! I didn't want to post this chapter because I didn't like it. I wanted to rewrite it and change the plot. But I really didn't have the time, and I kept putting it off and off and off. So here's the chapter, and I promise that I won't leave you guys hanging like that again!

Crowley had instantly given up his bed to the blond when it had been announced that they would be sharing a room. Because, while Crowley loved his sleep, he loved his fiance more. So he had built himself a small bed on the floor out of an extra mattress and blankets. It wasn’t the comfiest, but he wasn’t going to force Aziraphale on the floor. 

But, the night that the Four Horseman, as he liked to call them, arrived, he found himself restless in his makeshift bed. 

Quite honestly, he was terrified. The four of them were downright dangerous. He’d seen them in action more than once. He used to be a part of them. 

When he was younger, when the White Kingdom and Black Kingdom were breaking apart, he had been in a very strange limbo. That was back when there were two full sets of Kings and Queens.   
Back when things were falling to pieces. 

They had called the White Queen the Feather Queen, her husband had been the Ivory King (the palace had been named after him). The Black King had been called the Onyx King and the Black Queen was known as the Shadow’s Queen. The nicknames haven’t been used in years, ever since the Ivory King died and the Shadow’s Queen went insane. The Feather Queen was just The Queen, as there was no other queen to confuse her with. The same with the Onyx King. 

The Onyx King and the Shadow’s Queen had been cast out for going against the ideals and morals of the White Kingdom. They were deemed evil, putrid, deadly. The casting out hadn’t happened overnight, though. It was months of arguing, fighting, bickering as both pairs of royalty tried to figure out what to do. 

It was during this time that War, Famine, Pollution and Death had showed up. 

They were foreigners, off from the distant lands. They were there to represent their respective kingdoms in dealing with the split of the White Kingdom. But that was not their agenda. 

They wanted to kill.

They had called Crowley “Conquest”. He had been so young, so easily manipulated. He hadn’t known the kindness of the White Kingdom. He had only known the cruelty that his own parents showed him and the chaos that the Four Horseman brought. So, of course, he joined his ranks. 

He kept a tally of the number of people that they had driven to death. Deep down, he had known that it was not good. He knew that it was wrong. But the way that War would phrase it, the way that she would insist that they weren’t killing, only playing, Crowley could forget how awful it was. He could lock his worries and fears into the deepest depths of his heart. He could forget all about it. 

They had killed twelve people. 

They had played with their lives, made a puppet out of each and every one of them. They had turned families against one another, broken up marriages, torn apart people’s minds. There was no blood on their hands, but the person would kill themselves, or get killed by another, and the weight of their corpse still haunted Crowley. 

It haunted him to this day. 

The twelfth death had been the worst. 

The twelfth death had been the Ivory King. 

The five of them had ruined him. They had turned the Feather Queen against him, made his son avoid him, forced his kingdom to loathe him. They had destroyed the man, put him under pressures that he couldn’t handle. His homeland was tearing at the seams, and the strain of everything else had driven him insane. They found his hanged body in the gardens, his beautiful white wings limp. 

Crowley knew how bad it had been. He knew that it was a mistake. He knew that it needed to stop. 

The Feather Queen exiled him. 

Crowley had previously been welcomed into the White Kingdom. He had been allowed to stay. The Feather Queen had been willing to let him stay and live as a prince in the Ivory Palace, not as a prince in the Charcoal Castle. But, when she saw her husband’s body, empty and dead, she had known that it was Crowley. She had sent him and his four friends away, demanding that they never return. 

The other four had stopped for a while, fearing that they may be caught. It might’ve been the only time that they were worried about it. They had sat quiet for a while. 

During that time, Crowley did everything that he could to earn his way back to the White Kingdom. He hated the Charcoal Castle. He hated his father, he hated the coldness that was there. He hated how his past tore at him from the inside out. He wanted to return to the Ivory Palace, where there was love, kindness, freedom. Not the empty looks that he got as he passed people in the halls. Not the yelling matching that he and his father had. Not the uncaring attitude that he got from his mother. 

He wanted the love of the White Kingdom. 

And, most of all, he wanted to see the Young Prince. 

You see, Crowley had known Aziraphale before their marriage. He had met him once, very briefly, and Crowley doubted that Aziraphale would ever remember. 

Crowley had met him at the Ivory King’s funeral. 

The boy had been crying. Fat tears had been pouring down his face as he mourned the father that Crowley had a hand in murdering. 

Crowley had hugged him, and closely. He had apologized, though Aziraphale would never know why. But the Young Prince had hugged him back, had sobbed into Crowley’s shirt. They had stood like that for quite a while before Crowley had been pulled away, to be exiled for life. 

Crowley remembered those white wings, open and slumped in sadness. 

They were the same wings as the Ivory King. 

While Crowley was trying everything that he could to get back to the Ivory Palace, to see the boy again, the Four Horsemen had chosen a new target. Their thirteenth one. The one that they didn’t kill. 

The Shadow’s Queen. 

Crowley remembered the grins on their faces. He remembered how delighted they looked when they told him that it was his turn to play with her. She had already been torn down, tortured like a slave. Crowley had seen it all. All he could remember was the broken face of the boy at the funeral, and he turned tail and ran. 

Crowley had flown all the way to the Ivory Palace. It had taken hours. He had been exhausted. But he flew right up to the doors anyways and demanded an audience with the Feather Queen. 

He told her everything. 

Some would argue that he was right on time. Crowley always thought that he war far too late. 

His mother was saved. The Feather Queen stopped her from killing herself. But her mind was lost. She was too far gone to return in one piece. 

The Feather Queen had offered to take him back. She had offered to let him back in. She was furious at him, sure. But she thought that he deserved better than a lunatic mother and a father still wallowing in the past. She was willing to give him another chance.

Crowley had denied. 

He would only taint her kingdom at that point. He needed to cure first. He needed to redeem himself before he could dare to step foot in her palace once again. 

Even though he denied, one promise was made that night. The Feather Queen promised Crowley that, no matter what, Crowley would be allowed to see the Young Prince again, once Crowley was a better man. A man worthy of the Young Prince’s hugs. 

Crowley wasn’t called Conquest after that. He banished the Four Horsemen, sending them back to their own kingdoms. He demanded that they never return. He wouldn’t let them. 

And then, he worked. He worked to shake off all that he had done. He worked to prove to himself and to the Queen, that he was better. 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, who slept peacefully on the bed. He supposed that he got where he wanted to. He proved himself. 

But the Four Horsemen were back. They wanted to finish what they had started years and years ago. 

Crowley stood up, going to hover over Aziraphale’s sleeping form. 

He needed to stop them. He wouldn’t let them ruin everything that he had built up. He wouldn’t let them take away his Aziraphale, his sweet prize for his redemption. 

“Crowley, dear?” Aziraphale hummed, eyes blinking open slowly, “What is the matter?”

Crowley smiled softly, “Nothing, Angel. Just can’t sleep.” 

Aziraphale shifted over, patting the spot beside him, “Sleep here, darling.” 

Crowley was far too tired, far too hollow, to say no. He crawled into bed beside the other, letting Aziraphale tuck the blankets around the two of them. Aziraphale kissed his forehead, his lips warm, before closing his eyes and drifting back asleep. 

Crowley was left awake again, staring at the other. 

He was going to protect Aziraphale. 

He wasn’t going to let them hurt his angel.


End file.
